


So, What's in the Box?

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: Starting Over [15]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Satinalia season.  Regan and Alistair have managed to make their escape from his work’s party, and have made their way to the second party of the evening - at the Rutherford’s apartment.  But, at the back of his mind, Alistair has Cailain’s plans running on repeat.  What can he possibly do about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	So, What's in the Box?

“Didn’t I tell you you’d have fun?”  Regan gently nudged Alistair with her shoulder as they made their way up the steps to the Rutherfords’ apartment.  They were later than she’d planned; the security guards were surprisingly festive and Alistair had actually enjoyed himself throughout the evening.  Plus, Nan’s “secret recipe” cookies were an absolute hit and no less than four people had tried to con her into revealing the secret.

“OK, ok … you were right.”  Alistair laughed as he slipped his arm around her waist when they reached the top of the steps.  “You usually are, after all.”  He pulled her to him, hands sliding down to her hips while hers gripped his shoulders to keep from taking a spill.  “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”  He didn’t know why, but he absolutely _loved_ seeing her in this outfit: simple jeans, boots, and that black lace shirt over a black tank top.  Her hair was pulled back into what was barely a ponytail; messy with a few strands hanging around her face in soft waves and the only make-up she wore was a dusting of eye shadow and a hint of mascara.  He just hoped his own choice of blazer over t-shirt and jeans combo was presentable enough.

Her cheeks turned pink.  She quickly sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed, glancing away.  Why did she _always_ go pink when he said things like that?  She finally looked back up at him with a smile and nodded.  “You … might have.”  She reached up, ran her fingers through his hair and kissed his chin.  “You clean up pretty good yourself.”  She felt his hands tighten around her when she leaned forward and couldn’t help but give a little wiggle against him before her lips landed on his.  “And if you keep talking like that, you might never be rid of me.”

He couldn’t help it; he whimpered … a soft, certainly unmasculine sound, but he didn’t care.  Maker, her kisses would be the end of him one day.  His fingers dug into her hips.  Their apartments weren’t that far away.  They could just … skip this party, couldn’t they?  He just wanted to keep kissing her.  “Why would I ever ….”

There was a snicker from the door that neither had heard open.  “Oi, Trev … I think the rest of your guests are here.  They’re snoggin’ in the hallway.”

~~~~~~~     ~~~~~~~     ~~~~~~~     ~~~~~~~     ~~~~~~~    

“So how did the hearing go?”  

Regan Cousland shifted in the loveseat so that she could still lean against Alistair while meeting the other Regan’s eye and tried to smile.  The question wasn’t meant to be as callous as it might have sounded.  She knew that.  And, honestly, the end result was a good one, in her opinion.  It was just the fact that it even got _that_ far was upsetting.  “It … went about as well as could be expected.”

“They didn’t let him out, did they?”  Cullen hated to admit that he was curious.  He knew it would be a sensitive subject for her; it would have been for anyone.  And this was supposed to be a holiday gathering … not really the best place for such a conversation.  But the majority of their guests had departed.  Dorian and his boyfriend, Bull, who were apparently considering moving into the building, were all that remained, and even they looked interested.

“His sentence was reevaluated …” Regan began, reaching for Alistair’s hand.  She was glad they had such a small audience.  If Trevelyan had asked earlier in the evening, when three times as many people had been squished into the apartment, she would have probably just walked out.  

“And the judge said that the conviction … and the sentence … would stand,” Alistair finished for her.  He felt her fingers slide into his hair and bit back a sigh.  He would never figure out how her hands seemed to be in so many places at once.  He knew he was holding one, but would _swear_ he could feel the one in his hair _and_ one on his knee.  But every time he looked, there was nothing.

“I think Howe was actually surprised.”  Cousland actually smiled at the memory of Rendon’s expression when the judge delivered his ruling.  “I really think he thought he was going to get out.”  She could still see it clearly; the smug smile on his face fading into utter and total disbelief when the guards stationed near him led him away.

“I still can’t believe you rode down there with Nathaniel.  Any idea what he said at the hearing?”  Trevelyan knew a little of what had happened between the former couple.  And she could only imagine how awkward things would have been in such a small space after … well, after everything.

She shook her head.  “He … requested a private audience with the judge.”    She couldn’t help but wonder what he’d had to say, and more-so why he hadn’t been willing to say it in front of her.  Sure, they’d gotten into a … rather painful discussion the night before, but by morning everything had seemed to have worked itself out.  He’d been in the courtroom when she gave her heartfelt response and she hadn’t had a problem with it.  He’d been there for all the discussions … even his own father’s arguments for early release.  But when it came time for _his_ opinion, he kept it between himself and the judge … and the stenographer.

“He _did_ come out of the room with red eyes,” Alistair supplied, shifting just a little.  That little box was digging into his hip something fierce.  He was a little surprised she hadn’t noticed it yet.  “Not that _that_ really means much, but ….”  His face fell slightly as the woman who had been snuggled up against him struggled to her feet.  He worried that the topic of discussion had triggered something but then he saw her reach for their glasses and relaxed and shifted so he could watch her walk toward the kitchen over the back of the love seat.

“You seem … happy, Alistair.”  Cullen kept his voice low.  It was one thing for his wife to hear; she’d been privy to his observations already.  But he didn’t necessarily want the other Regan to hear, just in case he … or Alistair … said something stupid.  “Happier than I think I ever saw you in the academy.”  Back then, the young man had been dating a rather … snappish woman whom Cullen was sure was in it solely because Alistair’s father was wealthy.  

Alistair flushed a little.  He could feel everyone’s eyes on him.  It would have been awkward enough with just Cullen and Trevelyan here.  Sure, they were friends, but they hadn’t seen each other in years.  Add in the two men he didn’t know and it was a lot of eyes on him.  “I am.”  He couldn’t help but smile just thinking about her.  “For the first time in … I don’t even know how long … I look forward to getting home.”

“I didn’t know you two had moved in together?”  Trevelyan shifted, leaning forward, eyes gleaming with interest.  She’d have to give her friend a talking to for not divulging such information.

“We … haven’t?”  It took Alistair a few heartbeats to realize why she’d made that assumption.  When it clicked, he turned even redder and glanced back at the kitchen, relieved to see she hadn’t _quite_ finished doing … whatever … in the kitchen.  “I just … coming home means I have the _chance_ to see her … talk to her.”  He didn’t bother pointing out that they had moved from just having Friday movie night to dinner together, in one apartment or the other, almost at least every other day.

“Do you think you two ever will?”

Cullen looked over at his wife in surprise.  She’d never been this nosy into someone else’s love life … not even the few friends she’d managed to set up, _including_ Dorian and Bull.  “Might that not be a little … personal, love?”  He knew _he’d_ feel awkward if someone just dropped that question on him, and the wide-eyed look on Alistair’s face gave him a good idea of how his friend was feeling.

“What?”  She smiled innocently, reaching over to pat her husband’s thigh.  “I’m just curious, dear.  After all, I’ve seen how she lights up when she talks about _him_.”

If there was _any_ way he could turn redder, or sink into the loveseat, he would.  Alistair knew his ears and cheeks … and neck … were two seconds away from going totally aflame.  His hand drifted to the small box in his pocket again, stomach going in knots as he considered … not for the first time … what it might be like to come home to her … every day.  “I … well, um ….”  He saw Dorian shoot Bull a look as his eyes sought out Cullen for help.  “I mean, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t  … er, hadn’t thought about ….”

“I think what he’s trying to say is that he isn’t sure how she feels about the idea?”  

Alistair’s shoulders slumped in relief.  The corner of his lip curled into a smile as he nodded to Bull, glad someone had managed to say what he couldn’t seem to get out.  “I … and now Cailan has it in his head that he’s going to ….”  Maker’s breath, even _thinking_ about it made his stomach churn.

“Who is thinking about what?”  Dorian hated to admit that even _he_ was becoming interested.  If they were going to move into the building, he might as well learn more about what’s going on with the tenants.  It was kind of like his own personal soap opera in a way.  

Alistair sighed, dug his fingers into his hair.  “Cailan … my half-brother … is thinking about ….”  He had to stop and wait for his stomach to settle before he could finish.  “He’s thinking about divorcing his wife … because his advisors tell him he should, and asking Regan to marry him … so he can produce an heir … or more.”

“Doesn’t he know that she’s seeing someone?”  Dorian couldn’t believe just how much like one of Bull’s soap operas this was actually turning out to be.  The only thing that would make it more-so would be if someone turned out to be secret royalty.  

                                                          ***  
 _“Don’t turn around.  Just answer your phone.”_

Regan nearly jumped and did drop the glasses she had _just_ filled, eyes wide as they flew around her friend’s kitchen.  She was alone.  She knew she was alone.  But that voice had come from behind her ….

_“Don’t turn around.  Just answer your phone.”_

Oh … wait; Fergus had _said_ he’d changed the ring-tone she’d had set for him.  And now that she listened to it, she could recognize that voice from a movie he absolutely _loved_.  And, of course, now she was covered in water and surrounded by broken glass.  Wonderful.

“RC, you OK in there?”

She heard a concerned Trevelyan’s voice, hurriedly answering that she was fine.  She didn’t want to have to explain that she’d been spooked by her own phone … not yet, anyway.  “I just … lost my grip on my glass.  I’ll clean it up and be out in a sec.  No worries.”  She pulled the phone from her pocket and slid her thumb across to stop the voice.  “You realize I’m going to have to change that tone, right?”

“What?”  Fergus sounded confused for a second before bursting into laughter.  “Oh … that.  I figured it would make you think of me.”

“It did.”  She grabbed a rag and started mopping up, phone pinned between her shoulder and ear.  “It made me think _very_ unflattering things about you.”  She ignored his laughter as she busied herself wiping up the liquid and trying not to cut herself on the glass bits.  “I’m kind of in the middle of a party at RT’s; what’d you need?”

“You’re not going to believe who sent an actual _messenger_ with honest-to-Andraste rolled and sealed _parchment_ to Highever, for you.”  He had trouble believing it himself, really.  He waited patiently for all of two seconds before giving up.  “Cailan Theirin; _the_ heir to Maric’s vast empire of … well, everything.”

She froze, shard of glass pinned between two fingers.  She wasn’t sure Fergus had made the connection between the man she was dating and the man basically running the country.  She couldn’t quite recall if either had ever actually mentioned his last name before.  “What does _he_ want?  And why are you opening mail meant for me?”  

“Well, your address isn’t listed, so I guess he did the next best thing.”  Regan could practically hear him shrugging through the phone, a faint laugh in his voice.  “And I didn’t _open_ anything for you.  The messenger told me who it was from; just didn’t say anything about what it says.  Do you _want_ me to open it?”

_Did_ she want him to read it?  Was there any chance that this would be how Fergus found out about Alistair’s family?  Did it really matter?  She was going to have to tell him eventually.  “Go ahead.  Let’s hear what was so pretentious that he had to use parchment.”

                                                                                            ***  
“You’re right.  I … I need to ask her to come with me before I just totally chicken out.”  Alistair tried to smile as he thanked Bull for the last prod he needed to get moving.  He had absolutely no indication that she _wouldn’t_ be willing to go with him … especially since she’d been willing to go to his work party.  The thought of finally introducing her to his brother … and telling Cailan in the most obvious way possible that she wasn’t going to be someone he could just … pick up and marry … was an enticing possibility.  He just … had to ask.  

He made it to the door of the kitchen confidently enough, saw her squatting down in the midst of almost cleaned up glass and water with her phone pinned to her ear.  He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his tongue when she answered the person on the other end of her phone.

“Just … forward the … letter to me, Fergus.  I’ve got his number; I’ll call Cailan … from the work phone, of course … and let him know what I decide … _when_ I decide.”

He’d actually done it.  He’d sent a _letter_ to her brother to ask her to come to the family party.  Cailan was _seriously_ going to invite the woman he was going to attempt to convince to marry him to the family party, where his _wife_ was supposed to be.  Maker, Alistair felt sick.  He wanted to just tell her not to go.  He wanted to skip the party himself.  He wanted to do … anything to not let her see just how messed up his family was.  But … it wouldn’t stop if they didn’t go … if Cailan didn’t know she was already seeing someone … if Cailan didn’t know how much he loved her.  Loved?  Yes, _loved_ her.  Alistair swallowed, hand nearly diving into the pocket with that little box.  “Um … Regan?”

“I’ve gotta go, Fergus.”  She laughed softly as she pushed herself to her feet, looking around carefully for any remaining water.  She still needed to run a broom over the floor to get any glass she’d missed.  “Yes, I will let you know as soon as I tell _him_ my decision.  Give Oriana and Oren a hug for me.”  Regan flicked the End Call button and turned to see a very nervous Alistair.  She hadn’t seen him _this_ nervous in a long time; the serious look on his face made _her_ nervous.  “Afraid I got eaten by the kitchen monster?”  She tried to lighten the mood, feeling her stomach go in knots again.

He cracked a smile despite the tension in his stomach.  Maker, he loved the way she could always get him to smile.  “Yes, that’s it.  I thought I was going to have to … fight the evil monster with … with ….”  He looked around the kitchen, and sadly found nothing that would serve his immediate purpose.  Without giving himself a chance to talk himself out of it, he pulled the box from his pocket and held it out.  “… with this.”

Regan stared at him for a second before her eyes darted to the box in hand, then back at him.  That wasn’t ….  Was it?  No; it couldn’t be … could it?  Did she _want_ it to be?  Her heart was in her throat while her eyes made one last look between the box and his face.  “And … what …,” she gulped out, “… what, pray-tell, is that?”

He saw pink flood her cheeks and didn’t know whether he should grin or not.  He loved the way those flushed cheeks looked … when he was the cause of it at home.  But was this a good flush?  Or was she angry or upset?  She wasn’t smiling … he couldn’t tell.  Andraste, help him; please say he hadn’t screwed this up.  “Just … a small gift; an … early Satinalia present, if you will.”  He slowly pulled open the lid and held it out toward her, wondering if he’d just made a mistake.  “I … um, needed to ask you something, anyway, and thought … maybe … this would … help?”

**Author's Note:**

> So ... what do YOU think is in the box? 
> 
> I know what's in it. Do you?


End file.
